


The Stronger Bond

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alpha Mary, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Attempted Murder, Domestic Violence, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, M/M, Manipulation, Marking, Mpreg, Omega John, Omega John Watson, Omega Verse, Post-Reichenbach, Psychic Bond, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s an Omega and Sherlock his Alpha, but after he witnesses Sherlock’s suicide John tries to carry on, eventually meeting and bonding with Alpha Mary.</p><p>Now Sherlock is back, finding his Omega bonded to someone else and worse, pregnant by her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The day Sherlock jumped from Bart’s, John thought his world was over. He’d known other Omegas that hasn’t survived the loss of their Alpha. But John had never been a typical Omega. Even at the funeral, he thought he caught a bit of his Alpha’s scent, but of course when he looked there was no one there. At least his heats had never been that frequent. But the first one he had after Sherlock’s death he spent in misery and heartbreak, using toys in the bed where they had made so much love and his scent still lingered. As soon as the heat was over he moved out.

For the next year he threw himself into work. He could swear sometimes he could still feel Sherlock, like the moon pulling tides. But he’d seen Sherlock die. John chalked it up to the strength of their bond and tried to move on with his life.

In late January he had a particularly vivid dream. It was bitterly cold like only Russia could be. Sherlock walked in the darkness, bundled against the cold, following someone. John cried out as he saw someone about to jump him. Sherlock turned at his cry and knocked the knife from his assailant’s hand. John watched helplessly as three more men moved in on him. Sherlock tried, but they beat him unconscious, one of them picking up the detective, saying something to the others in Russian and tossing him over one shoulder. John woke, bolting to a seat. He put his hand on the bond mark, finding it warm. He shook his head, heart racing. Sherlock was dead. He’d seen him jump. He scrabbled his hands through his hair and went to take a shower, wondering how long his former mate would haunt him.

A year and a half after losing Sherlock, he met Mary. She was a strong Alpha too and he found that attractive, and though he treated her cautiously, the truth was John was lonely. Their relationship grew slowly. Mary seemed willing to respect his grief and take things as slow as he needed to. A few months later, when he started to go into his next heat, he asked Mary to join him. As they climaxed together she marked him, overlapping the bond mark already there.

John lay with her wrapped around him, falling asleep. He reached up and gingerly touched the fresh mark. She hadn’t asked. With Sherlock there had been a long discussion of what the bond meant and if they were willing to take that step. Then again, he had invited her to his heat-bed, he supposed he should have known it would happen.

His stomach lurched as her knot released him. He stumbled into the bathroom and threw up as if trying to empty his stomach of everything he’d eaten the previous three days. He knew, medically, what happened to Omegas that broke their bond. But with Sherlock dead it shouldn’t have been this bad. Still, their bond had always been exceptionally strong. John glanced out the door, not sure if he should wake her or just wait for it to pass. Eventually he crawled back into bed, waiting for the next round to start.

She moved in with him after that. John tried to tell himself he was happy with Mary, but sometimes late at night he’d almost swear he could still hear Sherlock’s heartbeat.

A few months later, John and Mary were walking in the park. John had recently finished another heat, and they were taking advantage of the pleasant weather. John held her hand and tried to smile, wondering why he’d been feeling ill again.

A breeze ruffled his hair. John’s head snapped up, sniffing the air. He let go of Mary’s hand, turning as he smelled it again, unaware Mary was watching closely. There. John stalked across the park, following the impossible scent that made his heart quicken and body warm. A man was sitting on a park bench with a paper, hat pulled low over his eyes, scuffed shoes and worn trousers. As John got closer he started to get up and move away.

“Sherlock.” John called his name through gritted teeth. The scent was far stronger than any disguise; he would know it anywhere. His heart pounded in his chest, half-hoping he was wrong, hardly daring to hope he was right.

Sagging, Sherlock waited, pale eyes watching him. John stopped a few feet in front of him, hands fisted. His Alpha’s scent filled him, made his heart ache. Sherlock stared at him, then over his shoulder at Mary. “You…bonded.”

“You died. I saw you die.” Mary stepped closer to John, but her scent was nothing compared to Sherlock’s.

Sherlock sniffed the air. His face fell for a moment, quickly covered up. “Congratulations,” he said stiffly.

“What?”

“You are with child.” Sherlock looked at Mary again before taking a step back. John started to reach for him, just wanting to touch, to assure himself he wasn’t insane. Instead hestepped farther back. “I will not interfere,” he said. John caught the tremble in his voice. Turning on his heel Sherlock hurried away.

John sat heavily on the bench. Mary held his arm. There was still traces of Sherlock on the cold wood. “I could be pregnant,” said John quietly

Mary kissed his cheek and squeezed his arm possessively. “Let’s go home.”

Still reeling, John nodded and stood. “Still early, but I can get checked.” He glanced back the way Sherlock had gone. “I need to know _why_.”

“Of course you want to know why your Alpha abandoned you.”

John nodded and squeezed her hand.

“Invite him over for supper. We can talk about this like civilized folk.”

“Good idea.” John gave a small smile and kissed Mary.

When they got home, Mary took him almost straight to bed. Her scent drove Sherlock's further back in his mind, but it wasn't her he was thinking of when she bit down on the bond mark as she came. She ran her hands through his hair as they lay together. "He abandoned you, but I never will." She curled around him, still knotted together, and stroked the fine hair on his belly. "You're going to have my child." John wove his fingers through hers, wondering about the life growing inside of him.

"I love you," she said in his ear.

John didn't answer, just squeezed her hand.

Later that night though, when Mary was asleep, John stood in front of the bathroom mirror. He pulled the collar of his shirt to the side. Mary’s bond mark was still fresh, but beneath that lay the larger mark that would not fade. He closed his eyes and held onto the cool counter, listening to a heart beat across London, still much louder than the one in his bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Abacura for helping me hash out this fic and reading through it.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock jumped from Bart's his only thoughts were for John Watson. His friend, his lover, his Omega and his mate. If plunging off this roof would keep John safe, he had no choice but to do it.

He heard the panic in John's voice, the fear and devastation. _I'm sorry_ , he thought silently.

The next few days were a blur of preparation. He had to get out of London and fast or else he wouldn’t be able to unravel Moriarity’s network. On his way out of town he stepped into his funeral for a moment, against Mycroft’s better judgment. John was sitting in the front, shoulders hunched, head down, alone. Sherlock’s heart broke and he slipped away before he was spotted.

He left nearly everything behind. One thing he did take though, was one of John’s jumpers. As he sat on a plane, leaving his life behind, he took it out and sniffed it, treasuring John’s scent. This was for him, he reminded himself. He put the jumper away and took out paperwork instead, looking for his first target.

A few months later he woke in the night, hot, flush. John must have been going into heat, he realized. He was surprised he could feel it, even being so far away. He took out the jumper and inhaled the fading scent, curling up and remembering the feel of John underneath him. He closed his eyes and let his fingers imagine his lover hot and open, keening under his touch, clutching around his knot. He came across the scratchy thin sheets and opened his eyes on the bare motel room. Shaking, he got to his feet and went to the window, looking up at the stars and wondering what was happening in London.

Sherlock scratched and dug at Moriarty's network, rooting out the foul weeds. The sooner he could get this done the sooner he could go home. He traveled wherever he had to. A late January found him in Russia. He was walking down an alley when he thought he heard John cry out a warning. Turning, he knocked a blade from his assailant’s hand, but three more moved in on him.

They beat him unconscious and he woke up bound and bloodied and facing one of his quarry. “Strange. I am being stalked by a dead man,” his accent was thick.

Sherlock met his eyes. “Odd, I am stalking a dead man.”

“Like yourself, I found it more convenient to not be alive. And now it seems we have found one another in the afterlife.” He laughed at his own joke before striking Sherlock across the face.

He tasted blood. “Why keep me alive, then?”

The man sneered. “You have information, Mr. Holmes. There are certain former colleagues I too would like to find.”

Behind his back, Sherlock was working on his bonds. “I’m sure they feel the same way about you.”

“Simple. You help me, I let you go, I vanish again. For instance, have you found Moran?”

Sherlock met his eyes, moving his hand just a little more. “No.”

“No one knows what he looks like. Is that puzzle too difficult for you?”

Getting a hand free Sherlock moved fast, grabbing the man by the front of the shirt and throwing him down on the hard concrete floor. His head hit with an audible crack. There was the sound of guards in the corridor. Sherlock stood, kicked the man and made his escape out the window. By dawn he was out of Russia entirely.

He kept moving, kept taking out pawns one by. Every piece off the board was one more step towards home, towards him. He could feel John’s heats, though the link seemed to be getting weaker. Maybe because he wasn’t there to renew the bond-bite. There was no time to worry though; he had to finish the job to keep John safe.

One evening he locked himself in another bare room. John was in heat again. He clutched the jumper close, trying to will the bond to be stronger. Suddenly something ripped in his heart. He cried out, stumbling for the bathroom. He sat on the cool tile, jumper in one hand, other over his heart. _John_. The bond was torn. Had he...bonded with someone else? He’d always believed John would wait, that he could make up for lost time, that he could explain and take his mate back and everything would be just as before.

He spent the night sick, body and soul. He stayed in his room until the heat passed, then quickly packed his small bag and headed for London, for home.

It took a few months longer than he expected. There were still a few loose strands of the web he could tackle on the way. Finally, after three months he sat in a park with a newspaper, watching John holding the hand of an Alpha he didn’t know. His heart clenched. Part of him wanted to race across the park, rip him from her. But… clearly they’d bonded. He saw John’s head come up and Sherlock froze. That was enough time for John to charge over to him. And….this was worse than he thought. He could smell the pregnancy, could feel her curled up around his John. He was barely aware of what he was saying as he looked at them together. So he fled.

Later that night he lay curled around John’s jumper, feeling her claiming him, claiming his mate. He wondered if he should give up, release the bond. But even here in the darkness he could feel John reaching for him. He couldn’t give up on that, not ever.

He was surprised the next day when he got a message, inviting him to dinner with John and Mary. He looked at it, uncertain. But of course he would go, anything to try and reach him. Clearly Mary had chosen John, but had John really chosen her? Besides, he deserved answers, deserved to know why he’d been two years away.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: there is abuse in this chapter and dub con bordering on non-con. Sorry.

John straightened his shirt in the mirror, taking a breath. Dinner was in the oven, something that he knew Sherlock would eat. Mary was hovering a bit, but he could hardly blame her. There was a knock at the door and he went to answer it, giving Mary a smile on his way.

Sherlock stood on the doorstep, coat and scarf like always. “Good evening,” he said formally, pale eyes searching John’s.

“Evening.” John took his coat from him and hung it up, noticing he was thinner than he remembered, but his body also betrayed muscle that hadn’t been there before. John wondered how much he’d changed in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Supper is almost ready,” Mary came out of the kitchen with a cup of tea, smiling though the tension was thick between them. Sherlock accepted it from her and they sat in the living room, Mary and John on the sofa, Sherlock in the chair.

Sherlock sipped his tea. “Thank you for inviting me over,” he said carefully.

“Of course,” said Mary, for both of them. “It was a bit difficult for John, coming across you in the park like that.” She squeezed his knee. John didn’t look at her, was studying the storm in Sherlock’s eyes.

“About that,” said Sherlock heavily, setting down the cup. “I owe you an explanation, John.”

John bit his lip, leaning forward. “Yes. You do.”

Just then the oven beeped. “Come on then,” said Mary, tugging John to his feet. “Let’s eat and then we can talk about it.”

John watched Sherlock eat, hungrily, as if he hadn’t had a good meal in months. His own food was barely touched until Mary reminded him he was eating for two now. He glanced at her, catching the look Sherlock gave Mary, then proceeded to make himself eat something of the meal. Finally, they went back to the sitting room.

Mary poured wine for herself and Sherlock. John rather wished he could have something stronger than tea. He looked at Sherlock. “Two years.”

Sherlock ducked his head, toying with his glass. “I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me? Sherlock you…” he stopped, couldn’t say the words, couldn’t say the way the man had broken his heart, torn his world apart.

Sherlock reached for his hand and stopped. “If the world did not believe I was dead, Moriarty would have had you killed.”

John reached out and brushed his fingers. It was like electricity as their eyes met. Sherlock was telling the absolute truth, he knew that.

Mary’s hand dug into his side where Sherlock couldn’t see. John jerked his hand back. “But you were gone two years,” said Mary, voice smooth as honey.

“I was taking apart Moriarity’s network.” Sherlock looked at neither of them. “I was keeping John safe.”

“And did you succeed? Is that why you’ve come back to London?”

Sherlock bit his lip and looked at John. “That was not why I returned. I dismantled most of it. There was one…”

John felt excitement prickle up his spine. “You missed one?”

“There is one that is more ghost than man. No one has seen him. Orders come written or second hand. But I believe he does exist. He goes by the name of Moran. I was unable to locate him.”

“So John may still be in danger.” Mary put her arms around John and pulled him a little closer. John patted her hand.

“Perhaps enough of the network has been dismantled.” But John could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Well, I can help you look,” said John. “No reason I can’t still work with you.”

Sherlock looked at Mary. “Of course there’s a reason you can not.”

John looked down at his stomach. “I’m not even showing yet.”

“John…” Sherlock’s voice was a plea.

Meeting his eyes, John set his chin. “Look Sherlock, being an omega never stopped me from chasing you around London before, it’s no different now that Mary and I…” his own voice faltered.

Sherlock stood. “Thank you for supper and the wine. I...will be in touch.” He went to get his own coat and scarf and started out the door.

John shook free of Mary and chased him, catching him at the bottom of the stairs. He pushed Sherlock against the wall and kissed him hard, there in the shadows.

Moaning softly, Sherlock kissed him back before pushing John away. “John, I can’t. I…”

“Shut up. You’re the only Alpha I ever wanted.”

“You’re carrying her child, John.” Sherlock pulled himself free. “I promise, I will stay in touch.” He looked at John for one more moment before turning around the corner in a flurry of coat.

Staring at the darkness, John headed back up to the flat. Mary was cleaning up the table. She turned and looked at John and for a long moment they stared at each other. Mary moved first coming towards John and crowding him against the door. She pulled his shirt to the side and grazed her teeth over the bond bite. “I can smell him on you.”

John shuddered and tried to push her off. She pinned his wrists. “You are mine, John Watson,” she breathed against his skin, her pheromones dark and heavy between them.

He panted, his body reacting to his alpha even as his mind reached for Sherlock. She slapped him, bringing his attention fully back on her. “You are not his.” She caressed his stinging cheek. “I love you, John, I don’t want to hurt you.”

John stared at her. Mary licked a stripe up his neck. “Come to bed, love.” She let go and stepped back.

“The dishes…” said John, latching on to anything else. “Let me just get the dishes done and I’ll come.”

“Okay.’ Mary smiled and leaned in to kiss him, turning towards their bedroom.

John shook as he went into the kitchen and numbly washed the dishes. He should leave. He should go right now and take a cab to Baker Street. He put a hand on his stomach and sighed. She was right, he’d given up that bond. He had to make this work for the life growing inside of him.

Mary came out of the bedroom as he finished and set about making a cuppa while John went to get undressed. She brought him the tea and sat on the edge of the bed, caressing his hip. “Come on, John.”

John shivered again and drained the tea. “Of course.”

She pulled him into bed, kissing him before rolling him onto his stomach. John made no complaints as she pushed inside without any extra lube. It burned, but wasn’t it what he deserved? He groaned softly as her knot swelled inside of him, limbs feeling heavy and his brain sluggish. His own cock barely responded to the stimulus and he started to nod off even as he felt the sting of her bite on his shoulder.

“We’ll both feel better in the morning,” she whispered in his ear as he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to parapraxis, beltainefaerie and shellysbees for looking this over for me.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock was home playing his violin. Mary had claimed John tonight, again, he’d felt it, but something had also felt off. Something had been off from the moment he’d met her, and not just because she’d taken his mate.

 _“I’ve never wanted another Alpha but you,_ ” John’s words, more or less. So how had she claimed him? What spell had she cast that John Watson was now carrying her child. Mary had stayed close to John the whole night, but of course she would with another Alpha on her territory.

But John wasn’t just territory. He was a man, he was Sherlock’s every reason for what he’d done the last two years.

His phone buzzed. Frowning, he pulled it out of his pocket. John’s number _Help me._ He clenched the phone. He’d promised to stay away, but how could he? He started to text when another message came in. _Lauriston Gdns._

_I’m coming - SH_

In moments he was calling a cab while he dressed. “Lauriston Gardens,” he told the driver.

Sherlock bounced his leg, leaning forward and staring out the window. There were no other messages. He tried to feel for John, but the connection was muddled. At least he was certain he was there. Had he run away from Mary? Had, God forbid, she hurt him in some way? He bared his teeth subconsciously until he noticed the cabbie glancing at him in the mirror and looked out the side window instead.

“Wouldn’t it be faster to turn here?” Sherlock asked. His memory of London had faded, but he still knew most of the streets.

“They’re doing construction, have been the past year.” The cabbie gave him a look.

“Oh, of course.” Sherlock dug his nails into his knee. He tried again to feel John, to hear his heartbeat the way he used to. He briefly wondered if getting out would be faster, but that was ludicrous. The cabbie did know what he was doing.

A few minutes later he was pulling up in front of the place. His heart pulled. The first crime scene he’d shared with John. Still, this could be a trap. He skirted the front of the place and headed down an alley, thinking to try the back door.

Suddenly pain and a muffled gunshot. Sherlock stumbled and fell. Rolling over, he looked down at his leg, bleeding. Mary stepped out of the shadows, holding the gun on him. “Keep your hands where I can see them, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Mary.” Sherlock obeyed her, putting his hands up.

“Mary is just one of my names.” She walked to him and put her foot on the wound, making him grunt.

He looked up at her in the darkness, the wheels turning in his mind. “Moran. You’re...Moran.”

“Good, detective,” her voice turned to poison as she pointed her gun at his chest. “You stole my world from me, I’m just returning the favor.”

“What?” The pain was invading his brain, slowing his thoughts.

“Can’t deduce this one? Can’t figure out why I would want to…say...burn the _heart_ out of you?”

Sherlock blinked, looking into her cold eyes. “Moriarty was an Omega.”

She ground against his wound a little more. He gasped and arched, fingers scrabbling at the unforgiving pavement.

“Not...not just any Omega. Your Omega.”

“Very good, Sherlock Holmes. You took my mate from me. And then you destroyed our life’s work. But I’d always been careful. People tend to assume the deadly killer is a man. And John, well, he had no idea. You were dead. You never told him anything about the network, anything that might arm him against danger. You thought you could take care of all of it all by yourself, didn’t you.” She pushed his wound again and held her gun steady. “Simple matter of putting myself in his path. Oh, he was so lonely, Sherlock. He grieved you terribly. Did you even think of him, while you were out there chasing ghosts?”

“Every day,” he grunted. “I assume you used his phone to bring me here.”

“And you came running. Well, don’t trust your bond to save you. I drugged him, took what I wanted and he’s asleep in our bed. And let’s not forget, pregnant with my child.”

Sherlock gritted his teeth. “You never asked him to bond.”

“Why would I? Pretty little omega that he is. He was going into heat and here was Mary, patient Mary that listened to his story and didn’t mind his grief and brought him tea. He asked me to join him when he went into heat. I simply claimed what was before me.”

“And now that you’ve told me all this, you’re going to kill me.”

“Brilliant,” Mary smiled coldly.

“Did you know Moriarty killed himself?” Sherlock asked, trying to buy time.

Her smile slipped, just a hair. “I felt when he died, as I’m sure John will with you.”

“He may have been your Omega, but I know who gave the orders.”

She stomped on his wound, making him curl and cry out. “You know nothing about Jim and me.”

Sherlock laughed through the pain, looking up at her. “And you know nothing about John and me.”

“I know what I need to know. You’re a dead man, Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson is mine.” He tried to twist away a moment before the muffled gunshot split the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to beltainefaerie for reading and helping on this one.


	5. Chapter 5

Gunfire echoed around John. But this wasn’t the war, not exactly. Pain tore through his shoulder and he cried out. Dreaming, he was dreaming. He struggled for the surface as if drowning in an ocean. “Sherlock!” he called out his mate’s name, but it came out muffled. He kicked again for the surface, the pain in his shoulder nearly rendering his arm useless. But he had to get there, had to reach Sherlock.

With a gasp, he forced his eyes open. The pain in his shoulder was nearly as intense as when he’d actually been shot in Afghanistan. He raised his hand and found the bond-bite aching too. And not Mary’s, but Sherlock’s larger bite. Blindly, he threw on clothes and grabbed his medical bag, his only thoughts on reaching Sherlock.

He reached the street and looked around. It was the wee hours of the morning. He stuffed a hand in his pocket, but his mobile wasn’t there. Payphone. He hurried over, grabbed the receiver and dialed. A voice he didn’t recognize answered after the fourth ring. “This is John Watson. Sherlock’s in danger. I need to find him.”

There was a click on the line and Mycroft came on, sounding wide awake despite the hour. “Sherlock took a cab to Lauriston Gardens a short time ago.”

“Send an ambulance.” John hung up on him before he could say more and stepped out of the booth. He grabbed the door frame, dizzy, his head still a bit muddled as he looked around for any sign of a cab and tried to calculate how far it was Lauriston Gardens.

The phone rang behind him. “What?” he asked.

“I’m sending a car for you. The ambulance is on it’s way.”

“Thank you,” he said automatically, shifting the bag in his hands.

The car pulled up just a few minutes later. John rubbed his shoulder, wincing. He frowned as the car turned down a street. “Lauriston Gardens,” he told the driver.

“He’s been taken to hospital already, sir.”

John heart skipped in his chest. “How bad is it?”

“Shot twice, that’s all I know.”

John bounced in the seat, clutching his bag to his chest. He could feel Sherlock still, but it was faint. He’d never been a praying man, but he did so now. “One more miracle,” he muttered quietly.

Dropped off in front of the hospital, he charged inside. A few moments with the nurses told him Sherlock was in surgery. He planted himself in a chair to wait, fiddling with the bag.

Mary came in a short time later, looking worried. “There you are, John.”

John rubbed his eyes. “Sherlock was shot.”

A hand went to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said, sitting next to him and taking him in her arms and hugging him. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I felt it,” said John quietly. “He’s in surgery now.”

“He’ll pull through. You worried me,” she touched John’s cheek, the concern plain on her face.

“I’m sorry.” John turned and kissed her.

He could smell Sherlock all around him now, their bond as if it had never been broken.  

Just then, Mycroft walked in, trailed by Lestrade. John pulled free of Mary and stood to face them. “He’s in surgery, that’s all the information I’ve got.”

“I’ll find out more,” Lestrade headed for the desk.

“Thank you for calling me,” said Mycroft, taking a seat across from them and put his hands on his umbrella.

John sat down heavily. “It was all I could think to do. My mobile…”

“Here, dear, it must have dropped out of your pocket,” Mary handed it back to him.

“Thank you.”

Mycroft eyed the pair of them. “You still have a strong bond with Sherlock.”

Mary held John’s hand as he looked down. “I do.”

Mycroft started to say something, but a door opened. “He’s still unconscious, but you can see him. Family only,” said the doctor.

“They are family,” said Mycroft firmly.

The doctor looked at the three of them and sighed. “You can’t stay long, he needs to rest.”

“I’m a doctor myself. I do understand,” said John, barely allowing Mycroft to enter the room first. Mycroft looked only a moment before stepping back into the hall with the doctor. Sherlock looked pale and small on the bed, hooked up to an EEG and a respirator, with an IV in his arm. Tubes and wires everywhere. John squeezed Sherlock’s hand. Mary touched John’s arm. “You need to rest.”

“I want to talk with the doctor as well.” He turned and walked out, leaving Mary alone with Sherlock.

“The bullet to his shoulder was a very near thing,” the doctor was saying to Mycroft. “But it looks as though he may pull through.”

“Thank God for small favors,” muttered John.

“The police are taking this case very seriously,” said Mycroft.

“I’m sure they are,” the Doctor glanced at where Lestrade was standing down the hall.

Mary came out of the room and took John’s arm. “You should come home and rest,” she told John.

John looked back at the room, then at Mycroft and Lestrade. Sherlock would be safe here with them. “Okay,” he said quietly, noticing Mycroft watching them leave.

They were nearly home when he started feeling nauseous. He tried to shake it off, chalking it up to the pregnancy and stress. As soon as he got back to the flat he hurried up the stairs and ran for the bathroom.

“John, honey, are you okay?” Mary hovered in the doorway.

He wiped his mouth. “I don’t know.” He felt very dizzy as he sat back on the floor.

Mary leaned down to help him up. “Come to bed, love. Probably just the baby giving you problems.” Her hand touched his belly.

John pulled away from her, leaning on the counter. He frowned as he looked at her. “I can smell Sherlock on you,” he said, voice going dangerous.

“Of course you can. I was in the hospital room, too.”

“No. Tastes like...fear. It’s more than just the hospital.” John backed away from her, running into the counter. “What did you do, Mary?”

Mary smiled at him. “Nothing dear, just taking care of us.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re taking care of you.” John moved to go around her. She bared her teeth.

“You are mine, John. That’s my baby you’re carrying, and my mark.”

“You never asked me. About either of those things.” John cast around for a weapon, sorry the gun was in the bedroom. His knees wobbled and he knew Sherlock was slipping again.

“It’s too late, John.” She grabbed and squeezed the wounded shoulder, making him cry out as he fell to his knees. “He’s dead, or good as. And you’re mine. We can have a life together, just like we planned. You and me and our child.”

John shook his head. “No. I’m not yours. Never have been.” he threw his head forward. She doubled over and let go. Struggling to his feet he shoved her violently against the toilet, running out the door and straight into Inspector Lestrade.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to beltainefaire for the beta


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock came awake slowly. Everything felt muffled and dimmed. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a blank, white ceiling. Slowly he turned his head and saw John in a chair by the bed. One hand rested on his chin as he dozed, the other was curled in Sherlock’s.  Gently, he squeezed.

John came awake in an instant. “Sherlock?” he pushed the call button and stood leaning over his mate. “You’re safe, love.”

“Mary…” Sherlock’s voice was barely a whisper.

Something hardened in John’s eyes. “Mycroft is taking care of her. She won’t hurt either of us again.”

Sherlock started to speak, but John put a finger to his lips. “I love you. You need to rest.” He stepped back as the staff came in. Sherlock slipped back unconscious.

The next time he woke, John and Lestrade were talking quietly at the foot of the bed. John had changed clothes. Good, he’d gone home at some point, then. Lestrade was taking notes, but when they saw Sherlock was awake they stopped talking. “How are you feeling?” asked John, sounding tired as he took Sherlock’s hand.

“Much better.” Sherlock ran his thumb along John’s knuckles. “You?”

“I’m fine.” The door closed as Lestrade let himself out.

“What’s going on?” Sherlock looked towards the door.

“Just finishing up my statement about Mary.” John shifted his feet.

“How is she?” Sherlock carefully watched his face.

“I don’t know. Mycroft’s taking care of her, that’s all I know.” John looked at the hands together, as if Sherlock’s gaze was too much..

“I am certain he will,” Sherlock scooted over a bit in the bed, keeping his hand tight. “Can you feel her?”

“No. I never could, not the way I feel you.”

“John I…”

“Shut up.” John climbed into bed next to him, laying on his side and resting his head on his uninjured shoulder. “I don’t need any more apologies. You’re here, you’re safe. If nothing else, I should be the one apologizing.”

“She wasn’t your fault. She was right. I left you unarmed. I never anticipated her move…or the depths of your loss.”

“So, we’re both idiots,” said John affectionately, leaning up to kiss him

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, kissing him back. John sighed before breaking the kiss to lie back against him. He rested a hand on Sherlock’s stomach. “I’m not keeping the baby,” he said softly.

Sherlock’s hand stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m carrying it, but I’m giving it up for adoption. Mycroft said he’d find a good family. I just can’t raise her child.”

Sherlock kissed the top of his head. “You’re a brave man.”

They were silent for a long moment until John spoke again. “I could have your child.”

Sherlock squeezed his hand. “When we’re ready. Let’s get through this first. I will be right here. I won’t leave you again.”

John closed his eyes and settled in, starting to nod off. “You better not. Focus on getting better.”

Two weeks later, he was sent home. John helped him out of the cab as he leaned uneasily on a cane. "Almost there," smiled John, opening the door and following him up the stairs.

He smiled as Sherlock looked around, taking in the fact that he'd moved back in. A tray of tea sat steaming and waiting for them, no doubt courtesy of Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock sat heavily in his chair while John fixed the tea.

Sherlock drew John into his lap as he finished. John smiled and leaned against him as they both drank their cups. "Welcome home," said John.

Turning his head, Sherlock kissed his neck and wrapped an arm around him. "You, as well."

They lapsed into comfortable silence until they finished. John gathered the cups and put them on the tray. Sherlock got up under his own power and kissed him, taking his hand and leading him down the hall to the bedroom. John's heart beat faster as he pushed open the door and kissed him again. "I need you," Sherlock said softly.

"I need you, too. Lie back."

Sherlock lay on the bed and unbuttoned his shirt, watching John. John straddled his hips and kissed him while he got his shirt open. Leaning down he kissed Sherlock’s sternum, watching his face.

“You won’t break me, John,” Sherlock carded his hands through his short hair. He leaned up to the crook of Sherlock’s neck and inhaled his Alpha’s scent. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and growled a little, nipping at his neck.

John moaned, grinding against him. Sherlock tugged at the hem of his jumper, pulling it over his head as John sat back on his growing erection. John self-consciously turned his head and dropped his hands, trying to cover both the bond bite and his tiny bit of baby bump.

Sherlock pulled his hands to the side, leaning up to kiss him. “I am always honored to be your bond-mate, John.”

Taking a breath, John bared his neck to him, painfully aware that Mary’s bite was still there, though it was already beginning to fade. “Please…?” Sherlock merely licked the skin, thrusting slowly up against him through both their trousers. It felt good, better than good. It felt right, the way nothing else had for years. He reached down and undid his flies. Sherlock did the same with his own.

John shifted to the side to get his trousers off. Sherlock did the same and reached into the side table for some lube. John smiled, grateful, though he was already wet from the scent and touch of his true Alpha.

“Please, let me prepare you,” said Sherlock, voice gone deep and thick with lust.

John straddled his chest and Sherlock licked his cock root to tip as he gently thrust his fingers inside him. John moaned and grabbed the headboard as Sherlock mouthed the head of his cock.

“I’m ready,” groaned John after a few minutes, shifting down.

Sherlock cupped his hips as he guided him down. John groaned loudly as he filled him. “Yes, Sherlock.”

They moved together and John felt more at peace then had had for years, even as Sherlock’s knot started to swell inside him. He lay gently across his lover’s chest as he felt him near climax opening himself to him. Sherlock worried the flesh in his teeth a moment, then bit as he came. John cried out his body flooded with hormones and pleasure.

In that moment, everything was right.


	7. Chapter 7

John was grateful for Sherlock’s presence over the next several months. He found himself still nervous sometimes and he woke easily. There were nights of bad dreams, but Sherlock’s presence eased his fears. He was nothing but supportive, even as John’s belly grew.

For Sherlock’s part, he noticed John grew quieter as the pregnancy progressed. He tried to assure him that nothing had changed between them, but could see he was skittish sometimes, if he raised his voice or moved too fast towards him. It made him hope that Mycroft had taken care of her in as slow and painful a way as possible.

When the delivery came, Sherlock held him through it. Since it was John’s first pregnancy, the labor took a long time. Finally though, she was out. John shook his head when the nurses asked if he wanted to hold her. “She’s not mine,” he said firmly, looking towards Sherlock instead of at the tiny bundle.

The infant was whisked away. Sherlock leaned down to kiss John. “You should sleep.”

Nodding, he closed his exhausted eyes. Sherlock got up, kissing his forehead, and headed out into the hall. He wasn’t surprised to find Mycroft  watching a couple holding the little baby with wisps of blonde hair. “They will take good care of her,” he said.

“I would expect nothing less. John is asleep.” Sherlock watched the couple as well. They were smiling at the newborn. The wife was a doctor, the husband looked like the stay at home type. Judging by the business card falling out of his back pocket, he did some consulting work on the side. Stable, long term marriage.

“He deserves a long rest. I’ve arranged a vacation for you two after he’s recovered from delivery.”

“Mary?” Sherlock turned his focus on his brother.

“Is no longer any concern of yours,” his voice was cold and he didn’t meet Sherlock’s gaze.

“Of course.” Sherlock took one last look around and went back to John.

**

About a year later a package arrived at Baker Street. John was at work, so he opened it and found pictures of a cute little blonde baby and a letter from her parents, thanking them . He looked it over, then put it aside, uncertain if John would want to read it.

John came home and hung up his coat. “Any interesting cases today, Sherlock?”

“We got a letter,” said Sherlock holding the pictures. He hesitated.

Worry, fear and resignation crossed his face. “It’s about her?”

Sherlock nodded.

“No. I don’t need to see.”

“Are you sure?”

John crossed to him, pushing his hand against his chest so he couldn’t see the photos. “Is she safe, healthy and loved?”

“Yes.” Sherlock met his eyes.

“Then that’s what matters. She’s not my daughter, she’s theirs.”

Nodding, Sherlock turned away. He put the photos back in the envelope. While John watched, he locked it in a drawer.

John took his hand. “Maybe someday,” he said quietly.

“If and when you’re ready,” Sherlock leaned down to kiss him.

“I love you,” said John.

“And I, you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you always for reading and for all your support, each and every one of you who reads these things.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


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